


Feathers off the Wing

by alicat54c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel True Forms, Baby Angels, Castiel's True Form, Gen, Mentions of Good Omens, Nephilim, Soldier Castiel, mentions of Nightvale, oc angels - Freeform, season 6 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4439852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is prepared to meet his death at the hands of Raphael in front of the Hosts. He is surprised when that does not happen. </p><p>He is even more surprised at the legions of angels who support his political views more than the current government of heaven.</p><p> </p><p>season 6 AU. If Cas had done things differently, due to not meeting with Crowley. Also addressed are the implications of a society which can justify mind control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers off the Wing

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a fic about Gadreel and Dean being friends and baby angels. How did I get this?

...

Raphael’s wings, dark tipped with a white vulture’s ruff at the edges, flared white with lightening. Castiel flinched. Raphael sensed his brother’s apprehension, a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. 

“You have twenty-four hours,” he sneered, slamming Castiel against the ground again for good measure, before flitting away.

The dark haired angel lay against heaven’s foundation, the phantom taste of what a human would perceive as blood filling his mouth.

Around him, a quiet wind blew gently through an eternal afternoon.

...

Castiel watched Dean perform maintenance on the leaves and lawn of Lisa’s property. He desperately wished to reach out, to ask for assistance, but...no he couldn’t do that.

The hunter’s head snapped up suddenly, years of instinct warning of watching eyes.

The angel left quickly, lest the human become more disturbed by his presence.

In the corner a smartly suited king of hell swore creatively at the angel’s flight before he could even get a word out.

Back in heaven, Castiel huddled under the trees of an eternal Tuesday, trying not to let his wings shake too badly. That usually caused the cloudy rolls of thunder held within to flash, and he didn’t want any reminder of Raphael.

Moments ticked down his remaining hours, until Raphael’s call summoned the host. Castiel spread his wings to fly, resolutely ignoring the grey stratus of sorrow clouding his feathers. He had faced more than one ‘last night on earth’ than this, and, yes, while he might have died a few times, he would face this one with no less bravery than the last.

The assembled host of heaven spread before him like a sea of features more complicated than vastness of space. Thousands of eyes, sometimes all from the same being, followed the angel’s progression across the platform, judging, watchful, and in some cases full of awe.

Pounding filled his ears, in what a human might perceive as a heart beat.

Raised slightly above the rest stood Raphael, gaze piercing, like a silver sword to the heart.

The angel of Thursday tried not to imagine that image too vividly, lest he over expect what may become a future likelihood.

“Castiel,” Raphael’s voice resonated through the corners of heaven, threading through and around the grace of every angel. “Have you come to your senses and decided to submit to the will of heaven?”

“No.” Storm dark wings flared with the sound of a thousand rustling libraries. “It is not our Father’s will to restart the apocalypse.”

“Blasphemy!” hissed through the assembly.

Lightening crackled at Raphael’s shoulder blades. “You claim to know our Father’s will? You lay claim to the leadership of heaven?”

“I claim nothing!” Castiel thundered. “Father wants us to experience free will, to have choices. The old rule book has been thrown out, there is no need for the apocalypse!”

A rustle of wings flitted through the host, a testament to their surprise and apprehension.

“Silence!” Raphael boomed. “You would deny the humans you so claim to care about Paradise on earth?” 

“Not if it means killing all of them.”

“Your words will not lead this host astray, serpent!”

Castiel’s grace reeled at the insult, even as white flashes crackled within the clouds of his wings. “God’s last command was to protect humanity. My choice to obey, here, does not make me like the Morning-Star.”

A silver blade materialized in the archangel’s hand poised to strike. Castiel refused to close his eyes in the face of his demise. Stillness held heaven fast. Not a feather twitched.

Raphael’s arm lowered. “Leave this place, Castiel. You are cast out of heaven!” He beat his wings, catching the smaller angel squarely over his heart with a crushing burn.

Castiel felt his ribcage collapse and the edges of his paper wings catch fire. His form lurched back, and fell.

...

His wings hurt. Grey clouds stirred, each water molecule a scrape of sand paper against the charred bindings and collapsed shelves of books. 

Gentle fingers sifted through the pages, and Castiel flinched, hand darting up to grab the wrist of whoever was hovering over him. Blue eyes cracked open to squint up at his captor. “Who are you?”

“I am Dumah,” the angel said softly, unperturbed by the gauntlet grip around his arm. His shaggy wings whispered with honey and gauze. “Please do not move, you sustained much damage.”

Castiel lay back, eyeing the healer warily. “You are a rit zien.”

Dumah nodded, hands still glowing white as he knitted the pages of his patient’s wings back together. 

Castiel’s mouth felt dry. The hands of mercy all staunchly followed Raphael, but he could not sense the archangel near. “Yet you are helping me. Why?”

The white palms stilled, pink flickering in their depths. His multitude of eyes focused on Castiel. “I am not the only one.”

Castiel let his eyes rove around the crowd circled around his broken form. Most he did not recognize, but among the strange visages he could make out the few remaining faces of his garrison.

“Rachel,” he groaned.

His former second in command approached, wooly wings brushing gently against his own. She inclined her ram horned head respectfully. “Castiel.”

“Why are you here?” His words encompassed the silent watching multitude.

“You are not the only one to disagree with Raphael’s policies.” Her voice was rang with forceful conviction. “God raised you, so-”

Castiel groaned. “You do not have to follow me because you think our Father commanded it. He wants us all to have free will.”

She frowned. “We are choosing. To follow you, to stop the apocalypse, to fix heaven.” She poked at his shoulder, eliciting a groan from him, and a chastising scowl from the healer. “So stop being difficult and accept the help.”

Castiel let his head fall back with a thump. “Why am I still alive?”

Dumah, hands still sewing together flesh and grace, answered. “Raphael was afraid God would raise you again, so he did not kill you in front of the host.”

A sigh wheezed out of the angel’s reconstructing chest. “I suppose past smitings must be good for something.”

...

Amassing an army to rebel against heaven seemed easy when compared with assessing said army. Castiel had been in charge of troops in his garrison, but the experiences of a field commander did not cross over well to the responsibilities of a general.

There were duties which had to be left undone with not enough angels to spare, and tasks whose importance outweighed the inexperience of those left to perform them.

Boundary lines had to be drawn through the eternity of heaven (Which areas could they defend? Which could they stand to lose? Which could they not?). Fortifications built around entrances, so angels could pass freely between planes of existence, so as not to experience the dwindling grace Castiel himself felt when cut off from heaven.

Then he had to assess the personel, who were few and far between in training and skills and expertise. 

The angel of Thursday tried to make himself accessable to those who chose to follow him, if only to ensure their continued good faith. Some flocked to him in droves, awe filled and eager to obey. Then there were the others.

“I appreciate you coming to meet me.” The voice broke Castiel from his musings. He turned, alone in a clearing of a woodsman’s quiet camping heaven.

An angel stepped forwards out of the trees, her wings curved like two yellow teardrops against her back, speckled with the ideas of locked doors and brick. “I am Raziel.”

Castiel tasted the implied functions of the name, seeking out his sisters place in heaven’s hierarchy. “The jailer.”

She inclined her head minutely. 

“I would have thought you would side with Raphael, along with the rest of the keepers of heaven’s places.”

“Is free will not the foundation of your rebellion?”

“You did not seem interested before.” His wings shifted around his shoulders, storm clouds rolling over parchment with rumbling warning.

Raziel’s wings resettled in response, feathers clicking tensly like metal chimes. “I still am not. But there are those on Raphael’s side I would not wish to ally with.”

He tilted his head, questioningly. 

“Naomi and I differ in opinions on rehabilitation. I am taking the opportunity to voice my dissent with the current establishment which agrees with her.” She watched him, carefully gauging his response, though what she expected, the other angel did not know. 

Castiel considered her. She might be a strong ally, however the warden of heaven’s prison was notoriously reclusive, even more so that Virgil who never left the weapon’s vault. There was a high possibility that she was another of Raphael’s plants. He opened his mouth. “I do not-”

“You think I must prove myself.” Endless locks un-clicked along her flight feathers. “Fine. Raphael ordered that my guards bring you into custody. Instead I offer you our services.”

Lightening sparked in surprise against his shoulder blades.

She raised an eyebrow. “You are only the first to rebel, only the first to do so, so openly.”

The white stripe along his mockingbird wings itched like a library disrupted. “Then why join me? Clearly you don’t care about free will.”

“Because Father brought you back.” Her pinion feathers quirked. “You must be doing something right.”

He scowled at her words, but had long since given up that familiar argument. “You say I was not the first to rebel.”

Raziel nodded. “Angels stationed on earth for an extended time tended to...stray from their orders. Whole garrisons were rounded up and sent to-” the words seized in her throat for half a heart beat. Lock gears strained in the recesses of her feathers. Her eyes held his meaningfully. “I kept as many as I could.”

“And they are still in heaven’s prison?”

“Yes.”

A snap decision sparked through the general’s thoughts. “Show me.”

...

The prisons were exactly what a human might expect, if only because a human would be twisting the incomprehensible into a manageable vision. 

Castiel, with his brief foray into mortality, could perceive, if he squinted hard and forgot everything he knew about the metaphysical, dank twisting catacombs overlaid with the pristine county police buildings he had seen while working cases with the Winchesters. The cell blocks alternated between open modern steel bars and medieval peep holed locked shut with iron.

“Listen,” he thundered, voice reverberating through the prison, cutting through the enforced isolation of each cell. “I am Castiel. As some of you might not be aware, the apocalypse has recently been averted by locking Lucifer back in the cage, along with Michael. Unfortunately, Raphael wishes to restart the apocalypse by releasing our siblings. I, and those allied with me, oppose Raphael’s plan. Raziel and her forces have joined me, and will soon abandon this place.”

The angel paused. While Castiel felt the prison sufficiently fortified against attack and worth keeping, the jailer indicated that too many on Raphael’s side knew the short cuts and hidden entrances into that corner of heaven. The cells were constructed to be impenetrable, the location was not.

“Those who do not wish to join me will be left here to await Raphael’s forces.” Castiel surveyed the prisoners, feeling a lurching thud of a book falling whenever he recognized faces he had long since thought dead.

“I will join you!” The call rang from the furthest cell down the line. Castiel turned to look curiously at the occupant.

The angel clawed at the bars of its cell. “Our Father wished us to care for mankind. Continuing to do so now can only be redemption for us!” Feathers shifted through the prison, sounding like an avalanche of ocean tides, while their owners listened carefully. “I choose to follow you!”

Castiel nodded, and Raziel obediently opened the metaphorical cell door. Hinges creaked, a testament to having never moved in an age. 

The angel soon stood free. Ivy stones and mortar spilled mossy green from its shoulder blades, which only vaguely held onto the idea of a human shape. This angel must have been locked away since before the host began weaving their celestial intents into human features, in attempts to better love the creatures their Father favored more than they.

It flexed its white speckled wings tentatively, unfurling the miles of wall and fortification intrinsic in their depth. Its ecstasy became palpable as they reached their full length unhindered by confinement.

The angel looked at Castiel, leafy eyes full of adoring thanks as it kneeled. “I pledge myself to your cause.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “You do not need to kneel to me, uh,” he tried to pinpoint the angel’s visage, but came up blank. “What is your name, sibling?”

A flicker of hesitation. “Gadreel.”

A wing jerk reaction found every angel’s sword pointed at the kneeling figure. Castiel’s fingers flexed as his own blade nicked the other angel’s grace. His eyes ticked to the side at the metaphysical hand clamped around his wrist.

“You will not touch my prisoner,” Raziel hissed, her mouth flickering with jagged teeth.

“I apologize,” he said, directing his words at both the standing and kneeling angels. “I was...unprepared.” He carefully tucked the silver blade back into his sleeve.

Raziel nodded sharply, releasing him. 

“Please,” Gadreel begged, still kneeling. “The stories about me are untrue!”

Castiel’s lips pulled thinly, but he made no other outward sign of discontent. “You are needed, regardless of your past.” His gaze iced with thunder. “However, any future mistakes will be dealt with accordingly.”

The angel bowed its head, relief oozing from every crack of its stony wings. “Thank you sibling.”

“Brother,” Castiel said. “My vessel is male, you may use that gender when addressing me, if you wish. It is helpful when interacting with humans,” he added in response to the angel’s befuddled flutter.

“Should I use such denominations?” it questioned, voice hesitant. “I have become unfamiliar with these social norms.”

Castiel frowned. “You don’t have a vessel, so why would you?”

The angel nodded slowly. “I think I understand.”

...

Gadreel turned out to be quite the asset. He, for the angel had eventually taken a male vessel, was not as powerful as an archangel. However, the former guardian of Eden did not carry his title without posessing a very specific skill set, which stayed keen even after millennia of confinement. Angels were weapons which did not dull when left unused.

When Raphael and his forces broke through the warding around one of the rebellion’s heaven encampments, Gadreel flew into action. He slammed the miles of his wings straight through to the firmament with a shattering thud. The wall of god shuddered and rattled with each blow trying to break through, but held firm long enough for the other angels flee. 

His stunt cost him the anglic equivalent of a broken arm and a few cracked ribs. However, for every life which would have crumbled under the archangel’s wrath, he gained light pats on the shoulder, quick smiles, and grudging acceptance.

“He is quite skilled,” sections of the host whispered. “And have you seen his warding schemes? Mm, God sure put some extra chizle into those abstracts!”

On the whole Castiel had been successful in keeping all but minor skirmishes confined to heaven, where the angelic power would not cause patches of impossibility to seep into the thin veil of physical reality. 

The only major battle was an unavoidable convoy attack which fell out of the spaces between atoms where angel’s usually flew.

The angels had tripped through time as they clashed, creating unfortunate glitches in space-time and causing the existence of objects and buildings to become questionable. 

Castiel had sent a few angels to check on the small desert community, and they reported no overt dangers to the citizens, as well as the sun being hot, the moon beautiful, and mysterious lights floating quietly above some human eating establishment. 

Unfortunately, confining angelic battles to heaven meant a constant fear of raids and attacks from Raphael’s forces, as well as a sever focusing of the seraphs’ attention.

Castiel realized he had become too focused on the war in heaven, when a frantic prayer slapped him across the face in the middle of a war council meeting.

fuckfuckfuckfuck Cas, the fuck’s going on up there? I’ve got angel ninjas coming out of my Ah- fuckfuckfuckfuck

Rachel and the rest of the angelic commanders got whiplash as their general dove towards earth at breakneck speeds. He arrived in Illinoise too late.

“Dean!”

“Cas!” Dean’s hand, still clutching the silver blade which slew the angelic attackers, lowered. “Man, am I glad to see you!”

A cumulonimbus of warmth swirled through Castiel’s chest. “It’s good to see you too, Dean.”

The hunter straightened up. “Cas, what’s going on? Why did the god-squad here jump me?”

“It’s,” Castiel’s eyes shifted to the floor. “Complicated.”

“Well, sherrif, better start explaning.”

“Raphael wishes to restart the apocalypse. While not every angel agrees with him, some do.” He looked at the wing outlines burnt into the carpeting. “These were...assassins.”

“Assassins?” Dean sounded incredulous. “After me? Why?”

“To draw me out, most likely.”

The human ran his sword free hand through his hair. “Dammit, they want to Princess Peach me!”

Castiel frowned. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean waved his sword hand dismissively. “Ben plays- never mind. Forget it. So, the Empire’s sending it’s storm troopers after me.”

“Raphael believes to use you to get to me, yes.”

“Awesome.” The hunter hissed, in a tone Castiel was sure did not match the supposed awe filled nature of the word. “How did they find me?”

“I believe Raphael utilized his knowledge of your past which he gleaned from protecting the prophet while he wrote. The warding on your ribs is still effective.”

“Right. Thanks again Chuck.” Dean ran a hand over his lips. “Lisa took Ben out for sports practice. I’ll- I’ll leave them a note, or a call.”

“Why?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Because us silly humans tend to frown upon up and leaving with no notice.” He sobered. “I’m not going to get them mixed up in all this.”

“That would be wise,” the angel conceded, following the human to what appeared to be a bedroom. Wings swirled with threats of rain. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” The hunter looked up from the duffle bag, already half filled with cloths and weapons. Even after almost a year of peace, ingrained habits like quick packing were difficult to forget.

“For ruining what you had here. You were happy, I took it away.”

“Dude, it’s not your fault.” Dean pulled out his phone and began dialing.

Castiel’s wings rose and fell as the muscles along his back clenched. “Dean, I have to tell you something.”

Dean looked up from the screen in his hand. “Yeah?”

“The first thing I did after I left you was to raise Sam.” 

“What? Sam’s back? Where is he?”

Cloudy feathers curled close, obscuring his form in fog. “I was prideful in thinking I could do so without consequence.”

Dean’s fists were white as they clutched his phone. “Cas, what is it? What’s wrong with Sam? Did Raphael’s goons get to him?”

Castiel shook his head. “I could not get all of him. Lucifer held too tightly to his soul, but I did not see until it was too late.” His gaze fixed on the floor. “I meant to tell you, but I wanted to try to fix it first. Then Raphael attacked me, and-”

“Man, it’s ok. I get it.” Dean’s lips pressed tightly together and his fists clenched so tightly his phone creaked, but he met the angel’s eyes squarely when he looked up. “Shit happens. We deal. Now where’s Sam? Is he in some kind of coma?”

The angel shook his head, pages of his wings calming from their panicked wind born flurry. “A body can function without a soul; however it does not have the capacity to do more than respond to fired neurons and biological chemicals.”

“Woah, dude, back up. What does that mean?”

Castiel’s mouth quirked. “It would have the memories and appearance of your brother, but all the components that made Sam, his empathy, emotion, conscience, would not be present.”

A growl erupted from Dean’s throat. “Great, so Sammy’s still in the pit, and robo-Sam’s running around with his face. Great.” He ran a hand over his mouth, before turning back to the angel. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I must return to heaven. I cannot lay seige to hell and heaven at the same time. After I defeat Raphael, with the entire might of heaven behind me, perhaps that would be enough to rescue him.”

“So, what, I’m supposed to chill down here and do nothing until Raphael tries to snatch me again?”

“Dean, there is nothing you can do to help in this situation.”

“Like hell.” He threw a jacked onto the growing pile of cloths, heaving several breaths. Dean’s teeth still grit when he spoke, but his tone was more steady. “I’ll go talk to Bobby, he might know something.”

If Raphael knew about Lisa, he certainly knew about the Singer salvage yard. The archangel most likely also knew of the more human methods Zachariah had utilized to locate the Winchesters before, so really Dean was in danger no matter where he went.

Castiel sent a mental communication to heaven, before returning his attention to the still packing hunter. “It would be unwise for you to travel alone.”

“Dude, I don’t need a freaking babysitter!”

Storm wings flared. “Dean, there is a civil war in heaven, which I am in charge of. I cannot ‘pop down’ whenever you call for help.”

“Fine, geeze.”

The angel nodded sharply. “Gadreel will guard you, he is a good soldier.”

A broad shouldered man appeared with a flutter of wings. He inclined his head respectfully as Dean sized him up. “It is an honor to meet you, Dean Winchester.”

“Likewise.” 

“He is adept at maintaining boundaries and warding. He can protect you, while remaining hidden from other angels.”

“Whatever.” Dean zipped the duffle closed and flung it over his shoulder. “Give me a minute to uncover the Impala and I’ll be out of here. Is your number still the same?”

Castiel felt the cell phone weigh in his pocket, untouched since before Lucifer’s return to the pit. “I believe so.”

“Right.” He fixed the angel with a green stare. “We’re not done talking about Sam.”

“I understand.”

Dean nodded sharply, and left the house.

Emerald trees in Gadreel’s wings rustled their branches. “Brother, would I not be more effective on the front lines?”

Castiel paused, wings outstretched to return to heaven. “No. Dean’s safety is...important.”

Gadreel’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. “As you wish,” he said, before flying to his charge.

...

Castiel surveyed the battlefield, which had once been a farmer’s summer warmed pastures. The grass was now unrecognizable under furrows of mud, created not from water, but a much more noxious liquid.

Books slammed tight in his pinions. At his side Rachel clutched a hand to her mouth to ward off the ozone of vaporized grace.

“What could have done this?” she choked.

Castiel shook his head. “Dumah,” he called.

The angel of silence ghosted into existence at his side a few moments later. “Yes?”

“What took you?”

“I was needed at the field hospital.”

“Hm.” Castiel gestured at the chaos. “What does this look like to you.”

The angel’s eyes roved around the carnage. “This looks similar to the hands of passing,” he said softly. “But the rit zien are healers. We would not utilize our powers for war.”

“You forget,” Castiel snapped, “Raphael is the one who taught them all they know, as he too was once a healer.” 

Dumah looked sick, the beehives of his wings buzzing loudly against the shuddering bandages trying to wrap in on themselves to oblivion. “No, he would not force them.” 

“This slaughter says differently.” 

The angel pressed a hand to his mouth, gagging at the new implications of pulverized grace slowly leaking back into the fabric of creation.

Castiel laid a hand on his siblings shoulder. “Dumah, we need you on the field to counteract this.”

The angel shook his head till his thousand eyes rattled. “No Castiel. I cannot. We- I will not. Please, do not ask it of me. I cannot go down that path.”

Desperate terror clung to each sound wave. Castiel thought back to when he had heard a similar plea, and how he could only apologize with empty wishes of there being another way. He had thought, then, that Dean breaking Allistair was the only way. Hopefully he had learned from his mistake, and would not regret the lesson in the future.

He squeezed Dumah’s shoulder, in a gesture he thought humans considered comforting. “I will not. I apologize for causing you discomfort.”

The shaggy angel could only nod, striped feathers still trembling.

Castiel continued slowly. “Perhaps you may feel better away from the field until we have rethought our strategies.” He skated over the implications of a medic being unneeded to treat eviscerations. 

The angel shook his head, taking a buzzing breath to steady himself. “No. I will stay. I am still needed.”

Castiel nodded, allowing the healer to stumble back to his assignment. Part ways there an angel with the wings of a mourning dove full of warm evenings stepped close to his side, offering low words of comfort.

Mud turned wetly, glinting effervescently with fading grace.

“This is not good,” Castiel rumbled to his lieutenant. “If the rit zien are mobilized, then the casualties on our side could be catastrophic.” 

Rachel had been a captain, used to solving the seemingly insurmountable problems assigned by her superiors with quick efficiency. She drew close to her general’s side.

“We cannot counteract the finess of the rit zien, but we may be able to overwhelm their forces with brute strength.” Rachel’s wings clanged together, samouri swords quivering in her pinions. “Abner managed to crack Raphael’s radio code for a few microns. Word is Virgil is being sent from his post to redeem himself after allowing the vault to be ransacked.”

“The weapons were stolen?”

Rachel nodded. “If we intercept Virgil, before he recovers the missing weapons, we could use them to stop the rit zien.”

Castiel sighed. “That may be our only hope.”

...

“Dean, I need your help.”

A loud clang of skull against metal rang through the Singer Salvage yard. “Jesus Cas! I thought we talked popping in like this!” He stuffed a thick blanked back into the car, and slammed the Impala’s trunk. 

“I apologize.” The angel squinted through the darkness at the hunter. “Why are you out here? I thought humans were accustomed to using light sources so late at night in the outdoors.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head. “Robo-Sam is freaking me out. He doesn’t sleep, and I’m not laying on the couch with him skulking around the library.” 

“I warned you that he would not be the same.”

“Yeah well.” The hunter ran a hand over his mouth. “So what do you need my help with?”

“The weapons of heaven have been stolen, and we think that they might be hidden here on earth.”

“And you want me to keep an eye out.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “So what are we looking for? Some kind of Harrison Ford face melting MO?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Awesome.”

...

“Get your feet off of my coffee table boy!” Bobby scowled as the reclining figure scrambled to straighten up. “Now where’s your brother? I might have a lead on Cas’s heavenly weapons.”

“Robo-Sam’s out on a salt and burn. I couldn’t stand him skulking around the house any more. It’s creepy.”

The older man huffed, but didn’t comment as he laid his laptop on the table. “First vic turned into a river of blood, and the second’s covered in boils.”

“Could be a witch,” Dean said, scanning the article.

“I thought so too, but it sounds biblical.”

“Maybe.” Dean stretched back with a groan. “Might as well check it out.”

“What ever happened to that angel bodyguard of yours? Think he might know anything about this?”

“Let’s ask.” Dean grinned. “Check this out. Hey ‘Dreel!” 

A broad shouldered man appeared with a flutter. “You called?”

“Yeah, why not grab some beers and join us over here?”

The angel inclined its head, vanishing for a breath before reappearing seated on the couch beside Dean, clutching three bottles fresh from the fridge.

Dean’s smile threatened to split his face as he popped the top off his drink and took a sip. “He likes to be useful.”

The angel scowled in confusion. “But I can be useful.”

Dean chuckled into his beer. “Of course you are man.”

“So, what’s your take on this?” Bobby indicated the reports on the computer screen. “We think it might have something to do with Cas’s missing weapons.”

Gadreel squinted at the display, instantly absorbing the written words. “I am unfamiliar with the arsenals of heaven. I am sorry.”

“Right, guess we’ll have to check it out in person.”

...

Dean perused the diner’s menu, unsure whether he wanted onion rings or french fries. Robo-Sam wasn’t due to appear for a few hours, and he was taking the opportunity to savor his last few soulless creep factor free moments.

Across the diner table, Gadreel sat, preternaturally stiff in his hoodie and T-shirt.

“Dude, you want something?”

“I do not require food.”

The human rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Finally settling on onion rings, Dean shot the waitress a sly wink, as she sashayed over to take his order. The burger smelled delicious when it arrived, and Dean’s inner food-o-phile could not stand the apathy his lunch companion showed.

He pushed the plate to the center of the table. “Come on, just try a ring.”

Gadreel sighed softly, but plucked a deep fried ring from the plate to stuff into his mouth, as he had seen Dean do. The angel chewed ponderously.

“Well?” Dean prompted.

Gadreel swallowed, each individual muscle working independently of the other in a mechanical motion which made any human watching too closely wince. “It taste’s like molecules.”

Dean laughed.

The bell over the diner door dinged, and a monstrously tall man in a blue suit strode in. Dean’s smile became fixed.

“Sam.”

“Dean.” The man nodded, sliding into the booth beside the angel, who had furtively taken another onion ring from the plate. “So, what’s the case?”

The hunter quickly explained. “Bobby thinks it sounds biblical, so we’re checking it out before calling Cas.”

Sam nodded. “Could still be witches. Have you gone to the coroner’s yet?”

“Just about to head over.”

“We should use the same car; it would save time.”

Dean wanted to refuse this thing wearing his brothers face access to his Baby, but reluctantly nodded. He threw down a few bills, and the party rose to head towards the parking lot.

Sam reached for the door handle, but Dean waved him off. “No, you’re in the back.”

“Why does the angel get the front seat?” Sam groused, as he folded his limbs into the Impala’s back seat.

Dean repressed a flinch at the manufactured tone of irritation, hiding it under a sneer of bravo, as he started the car. “Because he has a good taste in music.”

“You mean he has your taste in music.”

“Same thing.”

Sam smirked icily. “At this rate, all of heaven’s choirs will be singing Zeppelin.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Just a statistical likelihood.”

“Angels do not have a concept of music akin to that of humans,” Gadreel cut in. “We sing our existence in what a human might better perceive as light than sound waves.”

There was a lull of silence. Dean cleared his throat. “Ok then. I guess I’ll just have to enlighten you while you’re on earth.”

...

After the grasshoppers, Dean called Cas, and the plot thickened when apparently some angel had bought a kid’s soul in exchange for the rod of Moses.

Balthazar being a dick didn’t come as a surprise to Dean, however the ferocity with which Raphael’s goons tried to stab Gadreel did. The angels took one look at the wall of god, before abandoning Castiel and Balthazar in favor of going for the other angel’s eyes.

This provided enough distraction for Dean to slam down a banishing sigil and Balthazar to salt Raphael’s vessel, nicely tying up the case. They even got that kid Aron’s soul released from his contract.

Robo-Sam decided to stick with his stolen car instead of suffering in the back seat, so only Dean and Gadreel were in the Impala as it drove back to South Dakota.

“So what was that back there?” Dean said, eyes flicking from the road to the silent angel.

“I am not well liked by many of my brethren.”

“Why? Is it because you’re not a dick with wings?”

Gadreel frowned in confusion at the comment, but decided it was irrelevant. “No.”

The silence stretched for half a mile between them, before Dean cracked.

“Come on man, you can’t leave me hanging.”

The angel hesitated. “I failed in my duty to guard Eden. Lucifer tricked me, and all of creation fell to sin.”

“Ah, well.” Dean awkwardly reached out a hand to pat Gadreel’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel better, I broke the first seal and started the apocalypse. Lots of folk wanna kill me for that. A few even succeeded.”

“I am releived that you appear to be recovered.”

Dean chuckled. “Those were some awesome moves you pulled off back there though. I thought Raphael was going to smite me for a minute there before you stepped in.”

“It would take more than a single blow from an archangel to get past me.”

“What seriously?”

The angel nodded solemnly. 

Dean shook his head. “Sheesh, what’s a Sherman tank doing down here then? Shouldn’t you be ninja sniping baddies upstairs?”

Gadreel frowned. “That is not who I am.”

An eyebrow raised questioningly.

The angel pressed his lips together. “I am a sentry. Aggression is not inherent in my nature. It is...repulsive to me. In heaven, my only use would be to guard the camps, but the need of my siblings has not been so great, as of yet, that they must call me for their defense.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but his phone rang. He pulled the device from his pocket and quickly held it to his ear when he saw the name emblazoned on the screen.

Gadreel allowed the human the illusion of privacy by not listening to his conversation in favor of staring out of the window.

“I can’t stop by until this blows over, but give Ben a hug for me...I’ll try....Ok, bye.” Dean hung up, a contented smile playing across his lips. He seemed to recall the car’s other passenger, and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “That was Lisa, she’s a friend.” 

Gadreel nodded. “I gathered.”

Dean cleared his throat. “So, you’ve got anyone waiting for you upstairs?”

The angel paused in thought, before slowly speaking. “My best friend, Abner, is among those allied with Castiel’s forces. He worked in... communications before the rebellion, and now keeps our force’s radios hidden from Raphael.”

“He sounds nice. Where did you two meet?”

“Heaven’s prison.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

...

Dim wavelengths of celestial intent huddled around the campfires within a former boy scout’s childhood. The slice of heaven was fortified against attack, however every angel kept their communications low, lest Raphael’s troops discover them and disturb their moments of rest.

Memories of thunder boomed overhead, sending several seraphs into flutters of terror.

“Calm yourselves,” an older angel scolded gently. 

“Sorry,” the brightest amongst the gaggle whispered. “We thought it was Raphael.”

“No need to apologize,” the angel settled her wings around the youngsters. “I am Muriel.”

“Samandriel,” the angel smiled. “Sorry again for being silly.”

“Brother, you have no need to be ashamed. We all are frightened. During my first campaign, Gabriel had to talk the jitters out of my whole garrison, just so we would stop shedding feathers.”

Samandriel wriggled, excited chicks chirping along his flight feathers. “You met the Messenger?”

Muriel inclined her head. “Yes. I even spoke to them once. When the Darkness still prevented creation from existing, Gabriel brought me news of my close sibling’s passing. We called them the archangel of death back then, for Gabriel knew all the names of those passed. I welcomed their presence.”

The younger angel shivered. “Was Gabriel not terrifying?”

“You are too young to remember, Samandriel.” Muriel chuckled affectionately. “The wings of an archangel once brought comfort to all who sensed them.”

She conjured images of the hawk shaped Messenger, shrouded in golden echoing sound waves which spread words and music through the terrified garrisons before a battle. Michael’s brown eagle wings, equal parts wrath and warmth, burning gently beside the glacial sheets of the Light-Bringer’s falcon curved glow. The cool touch of the Healer, vulture wings curving embraces over the injured, awash with wind and water.

“That was an archangel?” Samandriel breathed.

Muriel nodded. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Fields of grass bent low along her rustling flight feathers. “I do not know.”   
“The rit zien whisper of a Mark,” an angel beside them spoke up. It had six faces and the serpentine body of a dragon, a testament to its inexperience with humanity. “The eldest among us claim it poisoned the Morning Star, which is why we were instructed to treat emotional distress with the same produce as metaphysical, after the Fall.”

“Truly sibling?” Samandriel’s wings flickered with fawns darting disturbed through the trees.

The angel inclined its head. “So my brethren say.”

“Ephraim, do not scare him,” Muriel chided.

The dragon inclined its head. “I apologize.”

One of the young angels twitched at the tense atmosphere. Noticing a small farm at the edges of the forest, it grinned. “Hey look, breeding goats.”

The assembled angels exchanges a look, and broke down laughing.

...

Elsewhere in Team-Free-Will-Enochian-Version’s current headquarters, which consisted of a picnic table beside a child’s play set in autumn, the rebellion’s leaders held council.

“He might be useful, but how can we be sure of his loyalty? He abandoned his post once already.”

“But he had decided to give us heaven’s weapons of his own volition.”

“Yes, in exchange for sanctuary.”

“Enough,” Castiel thundered through the bickering. He turned to the angel in question, who stood petulantly to the side of the figures seated at the table. “Balthazar, what do you have to say for yourself?”

The angel’s wings ruffled with party crackers and bells. “I admit I’m a hedonist, but I had a very good reason.”

“Which is?”

“I was exerting my free will. Old rule book thrown out, and all that.”

The angel of thursday refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. “You heard my confrontation with Raphael.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Cassie, everyone heard your little speech. It’s practically all that’s playing on the radio these days. Well that and,” he spread his hands, “How much Virgil wants to fry my feathers for raiding his stash.”

“So you came to find me. For protection.”

“After they found me, yeah.” 

Rachel’s wings clanged sharply. “See, he admits to using us!”

“Peace, sister.” Castiel calmed her. His gaze returned to Balthazar. “I do not believe he intends to betray us.”

“Of course not, why would I?” the angel scoffed.

The general’s blue eyes turned piercing. “I trust you Balthazar. Do not let it have been misplace.”

...

Castiel was taking a rare moment to catch up with his human friend, inform him of the war’s progress, and analize whatever latest kidnaping attempt Raphael’s forces had launched, when he was interrupted by two angels appearing in Bobby’s kitchen.

“Dumah, Chamuel, is there a problem?” His mind raced with possibilities of why the healer and soldier would approach him together. None turned out to be anywhere close to the truth.

The couple shook their heads. “We are in need of your council, Castiel.”

“You were assigned under Balthazar.” The general said warily. “Couldn’t he help you?”

“Yes, well, he said he couldn’t instruct us any more about this,” Dumah said sheepishly.

Castiel felt thunder pound at his temples, and wondered if it was too late to stave off the impending headache with human medication. “What happened?”

Dumah held Chamuel’ hand tightly. “We were...experimenting with the ways in which humans express affection.”

The angel’s wings shifted. Under the bees and summer fields, Castiel could make out a tiny fluctuation of half formed grace, still developing its features and shape as it curled in the region of Chamuel’s vessel’s stomach.

“You carry a child.”

Dean’s brows raised, and he whistled lowly. “Man, it’s always the quiet ones that are kinky bastards.”

Castiel shot him a look. “Not now Dean.” He refocused his attention on the two...and a half angels standing tense before him. Pages rustled considering. “The child is not Nephilim.”

Chamuel shook her head. “Technically her physical body is the child of our two vessels. She does not have a soul.” Her fingers curled with her partner’s. “Just the overtones of our mingling grace.”

Castiel’s wings fluttered, flustered, and he coughed. “Right. Then I see no reason why...she wouldn’t be welcomed by our siblings. The act of creation has solely been the purview of our Father, but if humans have the free will to create children, then I believe He would not bar us from the same choice.”

He cleared his throat again, looking specifically at Chamuel. “I can understand if you do not wish to fight in your... condition. I can have you reassigned from Balthazar’s command.” In fact, he should probably reassign every angel under Balthazar’s command, especially if he had been sharing stories about his wild times alone on earth.

The female formed angel smiled. “I was going to hide among the penitence.”

“The pacifists?”

Chamuel nodded. “Rebecca and her followers have sworn neutrality.” Warm breezes tickled the endless hours of summer in her feathers. “Most are also remaining on earth, and, as I am, I do not think it wise if I leave my vessel.”

Castiel nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. “I shall inform Balthazar of your... maturnity leave. Dumah, you can come with me to explain.” With a flutter of wings, the angel fled.

Dumah kissed his partner’s cheek before following.

Dean sipped his beer with a chuckle. “So, it’s a girl?”

Chamuel nodded, settling herself on the worn couch at his prompting. “That is the sex her vessel has developed.”

“That’s adorable.”

The air displaced again, this time revealing Gadreel clutching a heavy book. The angel surveyed the kitchen and living room, before settling wide eyed on his sister.

“I have found the book Bobby asked for,” he said, thrusting the parcle at Dean, who barely managed to catch it, before Gadreel reappeared on the couch beside Chamuel.

The human idly flipped through the text, pausing to read some promising chapters which might help re-soul his brother. The angels murmured Enochian to each other on the couch, otherwise ignored.

“I must go,” Chamuel said, around the time Dean reached the end of the book. She disentangled her hands from Gadreel’s and patted his shoulder fondly. “We should see each other again soon brother, I enjoy our talks.”

With a final wave she vanished in a flutter of wings.

Dean whistled over his beer, carefully closing the book’s cover. “Dude, hitting on married chicks?”

Gadreel frowned. “I was simply congratulating my sister upon her miracle.” His gaze turned longing. “She and her partner are truly blessed.”

...

Back in heaven, the rank and file were becoming restless.

“Malachai, shut up. And what on earth have you done to your wings?”

The angel crossed his fluffy white cotton ball wings impudently, shedding glitter all over the immediate area. “There’s no more rules, I can look however I want!”

Raziel massaged the bridge of her nose. “That doesn’t mean you should walk around in a toga. You’re practically only two dimensional, it’s indecent! There are young angels around!” 

Malachai stuck out his tongue. “Go breed with the mouth of a goat.”

The jailor’s wings rose, and she opened her mouth to respond, but froze as something on the edge her senses sent the keys of her wings rattling. Raziel flew to the edges of the camp, leaving the grousing guards befuddled in her wake.

She scanned the boundaries of the wards, until a distinct profile made itself known on the other side.

Raziel’s wings flared, keys clicking threateningly. “Why are you here, sister?”

Naomi’s smile remained bland. “Hello to you too.”

The angel growled incoherently. “What do you want?”

“It saddens me that we are not as close as we once were.” Spider legs coiled and uncoiled in the depths of Naomi’s wings. “I simply wondered why you would ally yourself with the rebels. I know we had our disagreements in the past, but I always assumed you had more sense than this.”

“I am performing the job god gave me; to protect those in my care. I could not do that siding with you and Raphael.”

“Don’t you get all high and mighty with me, sister. Your guards did their own share of tormenting.”

“Thaddeus was punished for what he did,” Raziel snarled. “I dealt with him myself.”

Naomi’s lips pressed together. “Those in my care need not suffer from the torments of their life. I help them.”

“You rip hem apart!”

“Well, at least they all are unharmed afterwards! What of the ones in your jail who fall into madness from isolation? Who do you think is the one to put them back together?”

“I do not discount the help you once provided, sister,” Raziel spat. “What I protest is your light handed application of an extreme proceedure, and the moral reasons why you do it.”

Naomi’s eyes flashed. “I serve heaven. I have always served heaven and helped my siblings. Because that is my job, sister, to help. And I do. I take away their cause of pain, so they can be happy.”

“You take away their thoughts, thoughts which our Father gave every angel the ability to experience! Instead of allowing them to think through their distress and disobedience, you erase the event completely from their minds. They cannot learn from mistakes they do not remember! They are simply thrown back into your chair the next time it happens.”

“And what of those who do not learn? This whole war would not have happened if Castiel had been given to me, like you were ordered to do. And I don’t see any improvement in the prisoners you released to fight.” 

“Well, if so many of our brethren with untampered thoughts disagree with the ‘will of heaven,’ then perhaps that is a sign something is wrong.”

“Or that we must better control the delinquents in our society!” A high pitched whining buzz eminated from Naomi’s feathers, drilling into her sister’s ears.

Raziel’s wings flared in reply, keys clicking dangerously. “Why are you here?” she panted, trying to disarm her attacking posture. “I doubt it was to rehash old arguments.”

“I’m here to make you an offer.”

The jailor hissed. “What? To join you? Betray the rebellion?”

Naomi frowned. “Do not let your disagreement with me cloud what you know to be right.”

“I’m not!” Raziel snapped. “I have chosen this path, and I will not be swayed, sister.” Her wings flared, jagged keyed teeth gnashing. “And it is only through our shared past that I let you walk free now unmolested. Now take your bodyguards and leave this place!”

The angel’s frown deepened, but she spread her grey wings and flitted away. Seven other sets of wings spread to fly in her wake, abandoning their hiding spots amidst the ripples of heaven.

Raziel remained tense for a few moments more, before stalking back to camp. She had to warn the garrisons to evacuate, before her sister returned with reinforcements.

...

“Why were you consorting with Raphael’s forces?” Castiel thundered.

“I was not,” Raziel said, head bowed.

“But you were with one of his commanders, Naomi.”

“Yes.”

“Were you collaborating with her against me?”

The jailor’s head snapped up. “I would never-!” Doors rattled to shattering point along her shoulders, and she took a calming hiss of breath through her teeth. “I would never willingly work with her again, if I had the choice, least of all to aid Raphael.”

Books rustled under a scanning index. “But you admit to having worked with her before.”

Raziel’s wings pressed tight against her back, keys turning. “We worked in the same...department.”

“She was a guard?”

“No.”

“Explain.”

“In the beginning transgressors would be held in my prison, and Naomi would speak to them. Help them to see the error of their ways.” Breath shuddered in her chest, an adopted gesture of her vessel. “But the archangels said it took too long. They questioned our methods, and Zachariah was put in charge.”

“What did Naomi do?”

Raziel shook her head. “It’s my job to keep those in my care from harm. God gave my that job. I can’t- I couldn’t-”

Castiel frowned, wings thunderous. “Tell me!”

“She-” the angel’s hands rose to hide her eyes, as if to sear away burning images. “Rehabilitation. She would pull apart...grace.”

He reeled back in horror. 

Her head snapped up. “I did not know what she was doing. Please, you must believe me!”

His wings shuddered, writhing thunderclouds speeding through paper like a motor, as if remembering touch filled terrors. 

“I kept as many feathers as I could.” Raziel whispered. “From the ones I couldn’t keep from her.” A key turned in the depths of her wings, swinging the latch of a desk door open. “I saved yours too.” A ball of light tumbled into her palm.

Cloudy thunder rolled in the feathery depths, fluttering through pages ripped from leather bindings. Scars he didn’t even knew he had twinge through the libraries of his wings, manifesting in burned words and ashy clouds.

Castiel reached out a hand, and -

A dark warehouse, seals on the cage about to shatter, he needed to tell Dean about Lilith, because humanity was-

He pressed a hand against the stone structure, preventing its fall. Surely Job’s children didn’t need to be killed to prove the man’s faith-

Prayers, so loud, screaming, begging for help. Maybe he could just-

Firstborn children? How could that be Father’s will-

Just this human can be spared, surely-

Why-

Papers slotted back into place as the stolen grace reintegrated itself with the angel’s being. Stolen memories peppered through the entirety of his existence, pulling at decisions and adding emotions to eons of blank obedience. 

Sunbeams peaked through the corners of his feathers like golden streamers around the brightening rims of cloud. His nature was breakthrough and curiosity; how had he forgotten that component of himself? How could he have lost that piece of his nature for so long?

He felt...he felt. Cumulonimbus’s of fascinated joy warred with the startled shadow of guilty sorrow, swirling gantly as if they had always been present within his construction. As if they had never been drilled out.

“How many of these do you have?” Castiel’s voice, normally underscored by quiet thunder, twitched with sharply shut tomes and ruffled paper.

“As many as I could carry.” The locks on Raziel’s wings clicked meaningfully. “I would send in my guards to- “ She took a fluttering breath. “Clean. Naomi, worked, close to the cells. When she moved her, operations, I conscripted a rit zien, Dumah, to help me.”

“How many of Raphael’s followers-”

“Enough.”

“If you were to return them, how many could we convince to stop fighting?”

She shook her head. “I do not ask the crime, so I do not know who would agree with you.”

“Would they disagree with Raphael?”

“Most likely. At the very least, it would throw his forces into confusion.”

The general nodded, sunbeams highlighting the high curves of his wings in sharp contrast. “I will summon the others; this bares planning.”

...

The commanders were determined to return the stolen grace to the host of heaven. Initially they reacted with disbelief that such an atrocity would be allowed, but then Raziel returned a fan of feathers to Balthazar.

The normally boisterous lieutenant sat silent in his seat along a private room in a waitress’s heaven. Trumpets played softly along his flight feathers, harmonizing with the bells in his pinions. He wiped a hand across his eyes. “The music, I had forgotten that I - that I could be-”

Rachel laid a hand on his shoulder, her ram horned head tilted close as she listened. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured. “And here I was thinking that you were an arse on purpose.”

Balthazar shoved her off. The brass in his wings trumpeted gratefully, despite his agonized expression.

She returned her gaze to the assembly. “What was done to our brethren is a violation. Even should it not aid us as much a we might wish, I think we should try to return the stolen grace to their rightful owners.”

The gathered angels nodded fervently, each discreetly checking their own wings over for missing feathers.

Clouds swirled gratefully in Castiel’s wings. Rachel could be strong minded at times, and therefore the hardest to convince of decisions and tactics, so having her support eased some of the general’s tension. 

“How would we go about it?” said Ambriel, his twin faces wearing matching expressions determination.

“A spell perhaps? Or one of the weapons of heaven?” fluttered Yequon, galaxies becoming disturbed in its wings as the angel thought.

The angel in charge of sigils and and other magics shrugged helplessly. “I do not know of anything which can return a fraction of an angel’s grace to it without the angel being nearby.”

“Balthazar, do you think any of the weapons would be useful here?” Castiel said.

The lieutenant shook himself from his reverie with a pop of party crackers. “I’m not sure. I’ve got the Stolen Breaths of the Firstborn of Egypt, Magdolin’s Oil-pot, Judas’s Rope, the Arc of the Covenant-”

“The Ark has the ability to touch multiple souls at once, to judge the worthy.” Ambriel burst, crimson and orange sun flares igniting along his shoulders. “ Perhaps its abilitys can be amplified, and used as a conduit?”

Yequon nodded thoughtfully, stars dancing in excitement. “Yes I see! Once forced along the path, the grace should naturally return to its owner easily.”

Ambriel’s wings quivered, fit to burst open and fly off to test the theory. “If several angels were to hold each point, the strain should not be enough to cause permanent damage.”

“How many?” Castiel cut in. He was interested in theoretical magics as much as the next scholar, having designed many wards and devil traps himself, but he also had the ability to prioritize in a crisis.

“Well, multiplying this spell’s reach by the entire host of heaven,” Yequon hummed. “At least seven.”

Castiel glanced at Rachel, who nodded. “We can spare them from the warding circles. How long will it take to design the array?”

Ambriel and Yequon exchanged looks, heavy with silent communication. “Not long,” they said together. “But we need to see the Arc to be sure.”

The general signaled for the angels to disperse, sending the two conversing scholars off to follow Balthazar to his hidden stash of weaponry.

He turned to the remaining angel, who has remained silent for most of the discussion. “Raziel, it would be useful if we could find where Naomi stored whatever grace she has recently taken. Any coercion Raphael imposed upon his followers could be reversed.”

“The grace should not have faded, not while the angel it belongs to is still alive.” The jailor’s wings jingled with keys. “Her old lab is in our current territory, but she must have had time to move everything, as it was empty. Logically, the next best equipped location would be my prison.” 

Castiel nodded. “Confer with Rachel about how best to break in and steal the grace.”

She nodded, and flew away. 

...

Castiel really should have expected something like this to happen sooner. Eons back, when he was still a newly promoted field commander. Balthazar joked that his lack of foresight would be the angel’s undoing.

It seemed that day had come.

A larger than usual force had been sent to apprehend Dean, forcing the humans and Gadreel to hide behind extensive warding, cut off from angel radio just to be sure they could not be detected.

Castiel had just sent down a contingency of angels to assist, when Raphael’s main force fell upon the camp. 

Grace and firmament exploded in rainbow flashes of white as the rit zien ripped through the wards. The general shared one paniced glance with Rachel, before flinging the council of commanders away with one thunderous flap of his wings.

Balthazar’s cursing hissed through the spell, as the angel prepared to fling himself at the metaphorical bars to try to free his friend. Castiel sent his second in command a firm order to flee, ignoring the increased volume of vitrol, even as his orders were obeyed.

A silver sword dropped into Castiel’s cool palm, his fingers reflexively tightening as he felt ensnaring barriers erect around him. Angels communicated solely with their minds and voices, so he did not need to burn any evidence or plans, the way a mortal soldier might. What he had to do, however, was infinitely worse.

Searching through his core, the angel found a bookshelf, older and more damaged than the newer memories swirling through his grace. The titles, some dusty, some achingly new, tickled under his fingers. Bees Are Nice, So’s Earth, said one, Winchesters, A Guide to Free Will, proclaimed another. Dean, a lone volume, not as thick as some, but its leather jacket well worn, said.

He placed his hands reverently on the ink stained oak, breath slow and even. Then his muscles heaved, back straining, as he ripped the bookshelf from its foundation. The wood shrieked, splintering as it tried to anchor itself back into the depths of his being. Insurmountable pain cut through the equivalent of Castiel’s heart as he wrenched.

The bookshelf did not want to go; Castiel did not want it to go, for it contained the very essence of his being. However, if he wished to recover the pages of personality past his time in Raphael’s care, he had to let it go now.

Wood splintered, screaming, before shattering free.

Mind swimming, Castiel pressed the handful of grace and feathers into a banishing sigil, unsure of where he sent it, so long at it was not where he was currently.

He pulled more recent books from the volumes of short term memory, flinging them across the heavens to safety, until the vault of the angel’s memories were near barren.

All this took place in a moment, so when Raphael arrived to personally ensure his prisoner did not escape, and to wipe out the remaining stragglers of the rebel army, it was to find a severly diminished seraph, splinters of grace dripping crimson from its threadbare wings, eyes blank.

“My name is Castiel,” the tattered being repeated robotically, shelves of its wings empty, save for the factory settings enscribed on the walls. “I am an angel of the Lord.”

...

The angel Castiel was escorted to a white room. It lay slumped against the wall, unable to pull together enough pinions to right itself or look about. Its skeletal wings bled quietly from the featherless skin, where once a being was sewn.

“We can’t kill him just yet,” a light voice filtered through the metaphorical door of the room. “He scattered his grace....Yes, I would have to reattach the feathers.....No, not a problem....Have them report directly to me if they find anything else.”

Two angelic presences drew nearer, voices becoming more distinct.

“Could we reprogram him? Send him off to fight his own troops?”

“No,” the voice sounded tight. “There is nothing left in there, except his name. He would need to re-learn how to fight, before we could condition him for assignments. We won’t know what information the pieces of grace contain until they are returned to Castiel. Then I can read them from his mind.”

The door clicked open, revealing a blonde woman and dark haired man-shaped thing with a tiger’s face.

The tiger pulled the angel’s head up by the root’s of its dark hair (which was slowly starting to lose coherency, and looked more like an unidentifiable wavelength of intent than any kind of physical manifestation). The tiger’s teeth flashed, and it hauled the empty angel bodily onto what a human might perceive as a dentist’s chair.

“Bartholomew,” Naomi said brightly, a high pitched buzzing Bartholomew between the long black spider’s legs of her wings, “make sure he’s tied down properly.”

...

Castiel was floating; a wavelength of light in the vacuum of space.

‘Dreel said Raphael’s goons got you, but I know you’re ok. He’s nothing compared to Lucifer, right? Hope you can hear this...’

Prayers? No one had ever prayed to the angel before. Why would they, Castiel was a simple soldier.

‘Found a lead on fixing robo-Sam. We’re gonna go for it. He’ll be back to normal by the time you get back, so better hurry.’

Back where? Castiel had never left heaven...had it?

‘Get you feathery butt out of Bible camp and back down here. ‘Dreel keeps asking me relationship advice about me and Lisa...I think, and Balthazar’s driving me crazy with his whining. You... you are ok though, right?’

Wisps of mist (were not there once clouds in its wings?) stirred feebly. The prayer sounded distressed, and splinters of concern pricked the angel’s being.

‘Please be ok man.’

Why would it be distressed? Heaven was perfect...wasn’t it?

‘Cas?’

Who?

Cirrus wisps drifted through the confines of the angel’s memory, breaking of its musings. A plan? Stolen grace? Return-

But before the angel could grasp the thought, it was drilled from it’s wingtips. It writhed ineffectually against its bindings-

nonononoDon’tTakeAnyMoreFromMePleasenonononono

-but quickly subsided as the blankness returned.

Voices sounded from outside the void.

“We managed to recover some of the angel Castiel’s memories.”

“What do you have to report?”

“They plan to spread discord among our ranks.”

“How effective would their methods be?”

“Very.”

“I must inform Raphael immediately.”

...

“I found where they have been storing the stolen feathers.” The door clicked. “It is just right- Castiel?”

Wings fluttered and a form approached the restrained angel.

“Oh, Father, Castiel!” Tugging at the straps, and voices raised. “Muriel help me!”

More beings approached, and Castiel found itself cradled in soft grasses at noon.

“Get him back to Balthazar immediately, we’ll finish up here.”

Castiel was aware of wings beating in flight, before it was laid down on something soft. Shouts and murmurs sounded around the angel, but it could not make them out through the pounding of its head. 

Soothing hands brushed through its wings, reattaching feathers and thought.

Castiel’s hand shot out to grab the wrist of the healer.

“Please, I left something behind,” the angel panted, trying to grasp his rescuers and impart how important it was, though the angel could not recall exactly why. “I let it go, and now it’s lost. Can you please help me find it?”

Ephraim exchanged a look with Dumah, claws stirring energy back into the cloudy depths of Castiel’s wings.

“We found the grace you... left behind. They did not find all of it, do not worry.”

Dumah’s soothing tones eased the angel back into a reclining pose. “We found your feathers, Castiel, do not fear.” A cool palm dripping honey rested upon the angel’s brow. “Now rest. All will be well when you wake.”

...

The bright light of a remembered winter morning prodded at the back of the angel’s eyelids. He groaned, wings shifting to cover his face in shadowy feathers.

Castiel started and sat up, before immediately moaning and sinking back into the soft pillows behind his head.

“Ah, so you’re finally awake.”

Blue eyes slid sideways to see Balthazar sitting on a chair beside the bed. The angels sat in a small room smelling of wood and dust, located in the eternal January mansion of a quiet older woman. Icy branches clicked against the closed glass window.

“How did-” Castiel coughed, one hand raising to press against his throat. Balthazar quickly soothed his friend’s feathers.

“Easy there, you’ve only just been put back together.”

“How did you find me?” the general croaked.

“We found you when we raided Naomi’s headquarters to retrieve what pieces of grace Raziel was unable to take with her.” Balthazar’s wings brushed against Castiel’s own, streamers intermingling with sunbeams. “We thought you were dead.”

The general rolled his shoulders, wincing as his left wing hitched. “I suppose I was, in a way.”

“I would say not to make a habit of dying, but well,” Balthazar tried to smile. “Your record’s not doing you any favors.”

“How are the troops?”

“Fine. I’ve been keeping the lot in line, and Rachel has been running the crafters ragged on your little project. They’re actually about to prepare the spell now.”

“Take me there.” Castiel struggled to sit up.

Balthazar frowned. “You’re not going to-”

Castiel fixed his friend with a steely blue stare. “I am among one of the best spell crafters in our garrison, and it would not take much energy to help craft the array.” He heaved himself to his feet. “I’m injured, not invalid.”

Magpie wings fluttered in concern, but never the less helped the healing angel to stumble down the mansion’s staircase to the main hall.

The dark wood of the entryway was stained with black lined and sigils as the group of researchers laid out the components of the spell.

Castiel let himself sink beside Ambriel, who clapped his general affectionately on the shoulder, before returning to work.

A siren blared in the distance, causing the mansion’s windows to shudder with the force of an angelic voice.

The camp was under attack.

No, they weren’t ready yet.

Castiel exchanges a glance with Balthazar. “Go help the others, I’ll guard here,” he ordered. 

The lieutenant hesitated, but nodded, and flew away. Intricate layers of warding sprung into existence in his wake, trapping the research team in the building, but hopefully keeping any attackers out as well.

The wards shuddered as multiple cracks, caused by the precise scalpel of Raphael’s rit zien. 

Castiel lurched to his feet, sword already falling between his fingers, but was too slow to prevent the death of the angel nearest the door. He dispatched the attacker, but not before three more rit zien flew through.

A researchers managed to stab one at the cost of his own life. The last rit zien reached out to touch another angel. A pink glow rackled between the spell caster’s feathers, before being smote to shreds.

Castiel leapt to slash at the attacker’s exposed arm while it was distracted, managing to burry his sword in its neck.

A squeal of terror eminated from the remaining four...three spell crafters, as another of Raphael’s soldiers broke through the barrier.

Castiel lashed out, catching the rit zien through its back. The attacker fell, and Castiel was the only being left alive in the room. He could hear more fighting outside the wards, approaching as each layer shattered, as the delicate cracked formed by the rit zien weakened the whole structure.

Limping to the array’s center, Castiel drew the last circle in place with his blood, replacing the original seven spell caster names with his own. 

He could feel the grace bleed out into the spell, ripping clouds and pages from the heart of his wings to power the flare.

The Arc of the Covenant, brimming with stolen specks of angelic grace, flashed, sending oceans of feathers back to their owners.

Elsewhere, angels dropped their blades.

Some screamed at the blood still dripping from their fingers. Some curled around themselves, holding their heads as they wept. Others stared mutely as their wings regained flowers, stars, brick, earth, air- aspects lost and forgotten for eons.

Above one side of the battle, one angel watched in furious dismay as troops on both sides collapsed on themselves.

A ball of light collided with his heart.

Raphael curled in on himself, screaming as his lightening wings bleeding through with healing springs and warm winds.

...

There is a story whispered under wingbeats between the creatures of heaven. It was first voiced by a principality, rejoicing over the defeat of a fallen brother (weeping, others whisper more quietly), drunk off the ambrosia of the ether.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Aziraphale, for that was the angel’s name, said, before pouring his sorrows onto the befuddled human bartender, eternally tending his abode in a private heaven. “Maybe if I took up that job in Eden- or, or volunteered for pray relays instead of walking ‘round London- Maybe- Maybe it started before that. I dunno....”

This is the story.

Before the Fall was Darkness. God spoke, and then there was light, and with the light and sound came the archangels. Later, lower levels of angels were created to fill out the abyss, but this story concerns the first four. Or, really, the first two.

True, Michael instructed Raphael in the ways of a warrior, and Gabriel could often be found hidden under the icy shroud of Samael’s wings, but no siblings were ever as close as Michael and Samael.

They were inseperable opposites. They fought together; flew together; bled together. Yes, no siblings were ever as close as they.

When Samael was captured by the Darkness, Michael dove to his rescue, flinging his brother from the pits of despair, even as the great general was dragged down in his place.

Father eventually stepped in and raised Michael; however, something was forever broken in the eldest archangel.

None noticed this fractured edge of his sibling more than Samael. Guilt gnawed at the angel for what had been done to save him in the name of love.

So, when the Darkness was finally locked away with the Mark acting as a key, Samael begged Father to give him the burden to carry. He felt himself equal to the evil of the brand, and believed his own sacrifice would spare his elder brother more pain.

God relented, for ever was Samael his favored son. He could no be denied anything, even the keys to his own destruction.

The archangel’s pride, corrupted by the Mark, became his downfall. He was cast out, and others...sauntered vaguely downwards after him.

Michael, still baring the twisted breaks of his grace, turned his face away from the host. His once warm wings teetering between volcanic rage and extinct apathy.

Raphael, ever loyal to his favored brother, hovered close, healing wings quivering and ineffectual in healing the family he cared for most.

Gabriel counted the dead among the fallen, and slowly fell silent, unable to muster a single note amidst his sorrow.

The rest, as they say, is history.

And maybe that history is what caused heaven to become so, well....what it is.

...

A pile of ash fluttered weakly in the puff of molecules trying to swirl through the partched air, too weak to form a breeze. Charred writing could be made out amidst the metaphysical room’s interior. The Enochian words etched into the stone foundation spelt out, I am...Cas..................

Outside the shattered angel, in the swirling light of heaven, frantic words scalded the air with their fevered emotion.

“I’ve called the hands of mercy,” a soft voice buzzed, only to be cut off by a loud clashing of bells and champaign corks. “No! He can be saved! You managed it before, so do your job!”

The quiet voice rose in volume to a forceful murmur. “He was simply ripped apart before; the pieces wanted to be sewn back together. His grace is burned, I do not have the skill to reconstruct words from ashes.”

“Well you better bloody well try!”

“It is not a matter of try, it is a matter of -”

“Stand aside.” A voice like a gurgling spring over moon white pebbles washed over the squabbling.

There was a scuffle, as several beings stood, wings raised to attack. “Get away from him!” blared a concerto of trumpets and bells.

“Peace, I will not harm him,” the voice said again, command laced with quiet lightening. Healing palms alighted upon the remains of the angel.

Wings billowed through fast forming clouds, and Castiel felt the breath flood his lungs with a gasp. He coughed, the taste of ash heavy on his tongue, feeling dusty books reorder themselves in the back of his throat, and sat up.

Gentle hands supported his back, and Castiel met the gaze of his rescuer.

“Raphael.”

“Hello Castiel.” Raphael loomed over him, wings curling over the fallen form.

“You repaired me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The archangel’s fingers flexed experimentally. “I realized that I had not healed anyone for a... very long time.” He stood. “Will you fly with me?”

Castiel nodded, and followed his sibling away from the questioning gazes of their combined armies, to alight upon the edge of a sheer cliff facing the sunrise.

Raphael sat on the precarious edge, watching the navy night ease to pinks and scarlet.

“What was the duty our Father entrusted to you?” the archangel asked.

Castiel cautiously sat beside his sibling. “I was given the fifth day, and told to care for all the waters and birds which hovered above.”

Raphael hummed quietly. “My function is to ease pain. It is the function of all the rit zien. That is what the apocalypse was meant to be; the ultimate end, paradise on earth. But.” Water ran deep under stiring winds. “I am a healer. I began to feel. Joy when those in my care lived, sorrow when I helped them pass. To snuff out an entire planet? I could not bare that sorrow unquestioningly.”

“So Michael made sure you could.”

“Yes.” Vulture wings hunched close. “Our fighting sent Gabriel away. I do not know whether that was his saving mercy, or whether that was what caused Michael to act in the way that he did.” 

“I saw Gabriel, briefly, on earth. He was hiding.”

Raphael looked at him, eyes pleading. “Is he well?”

Castiel shook his head. “I do not know.”

“Oh.” Water bubbled softly over pebbly banks. “The last time I saw him...” Raphael blinked hard. “I had never seen my older brother scream so hard, but no one was listening to him. I wish I had.” 

A memory of wind teased the fluffy sunset full of cotton clouds.

“I do not blame Naomi,” the archangel stated. “She was just following orders.” A smile played the corners of his lips. “She was among one of my greatest students, you know. The healer of the other rit zien. I told her to take their pain away so they could help others pass without hesitation. I justified my reasoning with battlefield logic; hesitation for even a thought could mean death. Time was not a commodity to be spared.” His gaze turned distant. “Perhaps that was my greatest failing as a teacher.”

“You can make up for all that now. You can stop your crusade to restart the apocalypse.”

The archangel turned a condescending look upon his companion. “Your attempts at subtlety are noted.” 

Castiel’s wings flushed with hot lightening.

Raphael’s lips quirked in a soft smile. “ However, I do no longer wish to release our siblings.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.” Raphael held the elbows of his vessel, shoulder blades puling his wings forwards in a hunch. “I think I will go to earth to try and find Gabriel. I must make amends. It might-” The angels breath caught as lightning spiked through the heart of his wings. “I feel it to be the best...choice.”

“The Winchesters might know where he is. I believe they spoke to him to gain knowledge of the horsemen’s rings and the cage.”

“I do not think they would speak to me.”

“That is likely.”

Bubbling brooks swirled over pebbly rapids. “I will still search. I need...time, yes, to repair this injury.”

“That must be very disconcerting for you.”

“My function is to heal. To know that there are wounds even I cannot soothe instantly is humbling.”

“So you will go to Earth.”

“Yes.” He examined his palms absently. “The home of my vessel was wrought with plague. He tried to heal many, before the bacteria put him on his death bed. Perhaps I shall start there.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I’ve observed that humans react... in an aggrandized fashion to miracles.”

A wry smile curled his siblings face. “I am aware of how to be discreet, Castiel. Who do you think taught the Son and his followers while He walked the earth?”

In a flashing flutter of wings, the archangel was gone.

...

...epilogue...

A flock of angels sat on the floor, legs crossed as they hovered around the tiny pink bundle sleeping in her mother’s arms.

“Her radiance inspires much affection,” a brunette sighed whistfully. “You are blessed, Chamuel.”

“And her wings, so tiny! All full of beeswax and flowers, just like her other parent!” A blonde cooed. “And her human toes!”

“I want one,” another brunette with curls hummed.

“You and Dumah were lucky to have such powerful vessel bloodlines when creating her physical form,” a red-head sighed. “My vessel is enough to contain me, but combining my grace with my partner, well, they don’t even have a vessel.”

The fridge door closed softly, clinking glass indicating a presence in the kitchen around the corner.

“And neither of our vessels is male!” another blonde, with freckles, lamented, holding the brunette’s hand.

Soft booted footfalls stepped approached down the hall, heading for the storage rooms further back in the house.

“Have you attempted to utilize one of our siblings?” Chamuel queried, shifting the baby’s weight in her arms. “Gadreel perhaps. His vessel’s bloodline is strong.”

There was a collective sigh as the angels drooled over the brick built wall of god.

The blonde shook her head. “He and Abner have an understanding.” 

Freckles rolled her eyes. “All of heaven can hear their ‘understanding.’ Seriously, they could at least tune off of the radio when they lock the door to their dungeons.”

“And Castiel is too much of a rebel to ever settle down,” curls lamented.

The steps reached the library entrance, intent on carrying the attached body past. That was, until he paused to flashed the flock a grin. “Ladies.”

A holy light flared in the angel’s eyes.

The red-head slinked over to him, hands resting on his chest. “Dean Winchester, you are a powerful vessel, would you consent to be the human father of my child?”

The hunter choked on his beer, even as the assembled angels perked up. 

“Oh yes please! Mine as well!”

“And mine?”

“Mine too!”

Dean held out his hands placatingly, to try and stop the lithe fingers plucking at his cloths. “Ladies, please, there’s enough of me to go around!”

...

Much, much, much later, Castiel would wonder why so many of his green eyed nieces and nephews fought over the honor of being the patron angel of pie.

For approximately the time it took for an electron to change phase, he considered asking them, but thought better of it.

Elsewhere, in a heaven populated by metallica and car grease, a crowd of gangly angels dutifully repeated the family doctrines of correct car procedure. 

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole.”

...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
...  
...A/N:

An angel’s wings might be bird shaped; or as much as a human can perceive their shape, their wings are bird like. Being multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent, their wings echo with the pictures and intents with which they were created.

So, for example, an angel who guards might have the ideas of locked doors and walls in their wings. A studious angel with kick ass Enochian warding magic knowledge might have libraries.

What follows is what I see as composing the wings of each angel.

...

Castiel: mockingbird. His wings are made of storm clouds before a thunder storm and scholarly tools, like paper and libraries. His sunbeams were drilled away by Naomi.

Gadreel: guinea, aka guard bird. His wings are made of walls and plants, as he was the former guardian of Eden.

Raziel: ploceidae, aka weaver bird. The essence of her wings are locked doors and keys. She was in charge of Heaven’s jail.

Balthazar: magpie. Is hedonism an adequate enough description? He’s got party crackers and liquor tucked in his wings somewhere. Maybe a disco ball. Probably a naked body or two as well, in various positions. I picture him as having once worked with Gabriel, so hidden somewhere deep down is an orchestra of human instruments and sound.

Rachel: name means ‘like a lamb.’ ram horns and steel wool. Swords and clubs. The beauty contained in an ornament glinting on the mantle, and in the stark sun of a battlefield. She has curly hair and a pair of ram’s horns on her head.

Raphael: Asian vulture. They have more a more mystic and less dark reputation outside of the western cultures. His wings are made of lightening, healing springs, and comforting breezes which soothe fevered brows. 

Gabriel: hawk, soundwaves

Lucifer: falcon, glaciers, rainbows, and light like cool blue bioluminescence

Michael: eagle, fire, mountain ranges

Dumah: rhea, the silent bird. Wings made of ancient medical implements, like honey, gauze, inscence, ect. He has eyes. Lots of eyes. Everywhere.

Ephraim: three faces, body of a dragon. None of his faces are human, but he does have apposable thumbs. Whether his hands were originally intended to have thumbs is unknown.

Muriel: fields of grass on rolling hills; forests in the early quiet of morning.

Samandriel: Cute fluffy creatures in the woods, like Bambi. Just, all the baby animals.

Chamuel: patron saint of children. mourning dove wings full of summer afternoons.

Malachai: not completely an anarchist yet, just going through the fun rebellios teenage years of changing his appearance from a multi-dimensional waveform of celestial intent to a kid in a toga with wings made by a kindergartener with too much glitter-glue.

**Author's Note:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...A/N/N:
> 
> Did Sam and Dean ever explicitly tell Cas that Gabriel got killed by the devil? I don’t even think the brothers knew how he died; they just had the video explaining the rings. I know Cas was like ‘you’re dead’ to Gabe in season 9, but when would he have had the chance to learn about it in the middle of season 5? Poor Raphael. I think he’s guessed the fate of his sibling, but, like he said, he really just needs time to heal, a luxury he could never afford to indulge in before.
> 
> Nephilim= angel + human. has a weird conglomerate mix of soul and grace. Chamuel’s baby = angel + angel+ human + human. Basically, the angel parents make a new being of light and grace and the human parents make the physical body. So, think Anna, an angel inside a body made just for them.
> 
> Also, rit zien are basically ninjas with one touch KO powers. Angel battles usually consist of a few strikes, and you always have the chance to escape. Not so with the rit zien.
> 
> Alternative lines for dean: Dammit, I’m Leia to your Han Solo.
> 
> And there really needs to be more baby angel fics out there, because the idea of immortal creatures which have no need of procreation suddenly finding out about this cool new ability to make imperfect clones of yourself, tickles my funny bone. Also, Dean’s A+ parenting really needs to be utilized more.
> 
> Gadreel is my favorite underappreciated character in spn. He has one of the most thorough backstories of an angel in the whole show. And then he dies. Nay I say, let us make him heaven’s new heartthrob.
> 
> Also, Supernatural, I love you, but A) stop ret-coning your cannon monster powers and B) please remember that you have lots of fun topics already covered and never expanded upon ever again in the show. Example: Sam and Dean, most powerful vessels ever. And that just...stops mattering after season 5?
> 
> Who got the Nightvale reference? It’s my head cannon, thanks to ‘Hail Mary’ by galactic, that angel battles cause warps in reality. Example: Nightvale. 
> 
> Yes, that was Aziraphale from Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaimen’s Good Omens (read it, read it now). In my head cannon for this verse, Aziraphale turned down the position of gate guardian, so Gadreel got it. He did however become assigned to earth, and met Crowley. They were still friends, but something happened, and our favorite fallen angel was smote. Aziraphale was drinking a wake for his friend/frenemy when he began wondering where it all went wrong.
> 
> Concerning Dean and Lisa: they remain together, as much as they can. Lisa understands that Dean has a very special relationship with every angel he seems to come into contact with, whether they be the in-denial angel of Thursday or the scores of angels who want him as their baby daddy. She totally ships Dean/Cas, btw.
> 
>  
> 
> ...  
> ... Deleted Scene: For some reason robo-sam thinks having an angel’s power on backup inside of him would be useful. He tries to get Gadreel to agree, after Gadreel expressed the ability to surpress his presence inside of his vessel (to get past a trap/angel warding, maybe?). The idea didn’t get very far.
> 
>  
> 
> “I cannot use a vessel without a soul.”
> 
> Sam’s nostrils flared. “Why not?”
> 
> “Nothing good would come of it,” Gadreel stated.
> 
> Sam slammed the door of his car, speeding away down the road.
> 
> ...  
> ...Other Books In Castiel’s Wings
> 
> I Think I Would Like to Be a Pacifist, If Given The Chance, But Circumstances As They Are Make That Seem An Unlikely Possibility, Also I Have Eons Of Soldier Strike First Mentality To Work Through Before Peace Will Be My First Response
> 
> Friends (See Winchesters: A Guide to Free Will, and Balthazar: The Repressed Years)
> 
> References Castiel Does Not Understand vol 1-9
> 
> References Castiel Does Understand, a pamphlet
> 
> Warding For Dummies (The last word has a line neatly drawn through it and over it is written ‘Humans’ (a sticky note tacked to the cover says ‘Especially Dean’)
> 
> The Annals of the Prophets: From Muhamed to Chuck and Beyond!
> 
> Pointy Bit Goes Away From The Thing You Want to Kill: A Comprehensive History of Castiel’s Service in the Garrison
> 
> Beer, Pie, and Other Human Mysteries
> 
> Traveler’s Guide to Hell and Back (Now With Foldout Maps!)
> 
> The Strange Case of the Dean in the Nighttime (Or: Why Humans Think Watching Them Sleep is Creepy. See also: References Castiel Does Not Understand vol 1-9)
> 
> ...  
> ...


End file.
